I followed Vivienne out of the library, watching her perfect posture as she glided down the hallway. Despite everything that had happened since last night—the museum kiss, the car confession, the hallway confrontation, the morning's awkward breakfast—she still moved like she owned the entire universe and everyone in it.
Maybe she did.
"Enjoying the view?" She glanced over her shoulder, catching me staring.
"Just observing your ability to walk in those heels without breaking an ankle. It's scientifically fascinating."
"Four years of ballet and a lifetime of my mother's scrutiny will do that." She faced forward again, the slight tension in her shoulders betraying her discomfort.
We'd kissed last night. Twice. And now we were pretending it hadn't happened because I'd stood in front of her and her sisters and declared myself a professional with boundaries.
Smart. Real smart, Angelo.
